Halation
by LaurelCeleste
Summary: A feathered butterfly smacked a ghost in the face, then the pictures in their head came to life.
1. Possible Oscillation

It came in rivers and streams, dripping down like streams of liquid velvet. Small drops fell against the wet concrete, dripping from the brick wall. The pools of red decorated the ground, a silver ring by my feet. The oil and dirt and blood swirled together in red and black spirals in the puddles. His hand was placed against that wall, resting, almost as if reaching out into the depths of the night.

"So, how many does that make, 7?"

A crow passed above, sweeping through the gusts of wind.

"Listen, I know you don't like this but.."

He was answered with the sloshing of boots and rivers, and the footsteps of disregard.

Two figures walked through the alleys of a city enveloped in darkness.

One was slightly taller than the other, was covered in splatters and held a pair of gloves. The other walked with clenched fists.

They walked through alleys, around rusted, green, overflowing bins, scraggly cats, decomposing boxes, and hunched over trenchcoats with beards. They climbed chain link fences and jumped off, the taller one always looking over to other. The buildings they passed were silent, mostly pitch black. Every once in a while they passed a fluorescent light or a flickering screen. Those screens of neon that flickered every few seconds, the ones that showed latenight cowboy specials and sometimes got interrupted by static. Thats all those buildings had, static.

Eventually they stopped, in front of a graffiti covered garage door, hidden at the end of an alley.

That tall one coughed into his fist, and looked over to his companion.

"Home sweet home."

As the dusty and colorful garage door went up, what looked like a busted up vintage car came into view. Its red paint was cracked and chipped, the side mirrors were smashed up and the what once was white interior had gashes all over.

They both walked into the garage and passed the old car, the taller figure slid his hand on it while he walked by.

The smaller figure opened a white wooden door that stood ahead, lit by a hanging green lightbulb and down they went.


	2. Error

Each step down on the steps echoed, in the darkness, they walked.

The stairs ended and the shorter one reached her hand out and touched cold metal.

She slid her hand down the grooves and bolts of the slick steel until it reached a circular piece of metal and turned it, three times. A series of clicks and creaks came from the inner workings of the door. Her companion then pushed the heavy door forward, the bottom edge scraping against a concrete floor.

The door opened up to a large lighted room, white tiled floors decorated by black skid marks, fluorescent lights above flickering in a strange offbeat pattern every few seconds.

"When is he supposed to meet us here?", the girl spoke out leaning her back against the wall, eyes closed, then slipping down to the ground and hugging her knees to her chest.

"He'll be here any minute now."

She rested her arms on her knees, opening her eyes, looking straight ahead.

The boy walked over to the girl, footsteps echoing, and crouched down to meet her eyes.

He tilted his head slightly, looking her directly in the eyes. She shifted her gaze to the side, pushing back a nonexistant strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're nervous."

A sigh escaped her mouth and she stood up.

"Well, what do you expect?"

She turned to the side and took a few steps.

"Anya..."


	3. Pragmatic

The boy straightened up and ran his hand through his hair, the leather jacket's scarlet splatters glistening.

The fluorescent lights blinked, and the room went dark.

Anya and the boy kept their place, breaths whispering in the caliginosity. Hissing whirs came from above, a light tapping in the distance.

Then there was light, a shower of stark white bathed the tiled floors.

Anya pursed her lips, her head a carousel of perpetual emotions, an endless oscillation of violet hues and velvet blues. It went round and around, each time faster and faster. An exhilarating ride of tempestuous torment. Like sepia film and incandescent lights, an unrelenting projection.

And it stopped.

Almost breathless she turned around, and the carousel began again. Gears whirring, rivets creaking, it began slowly.

It turned one, two, three times.

Screeching metal echoed through the room, a black string of fate wrapping itself around her hands, clasping them together.

Feet scraped against the ground, the steps came closer and closer.

Then they halted.


	4. Have at You

Things seem to fall out of place during the best of times. Just when everything is about to fit right into place the soundless ticking of the universal clock suddenly stops, and it tends to pause at the worst of times. Or maybe thats just her distorted black and white perception of the world, one that would from now on be tainted with scarlet.

Amidst the anxious tightrope of perpetually distressed students, the recent events seemed to have unfolded before her in a strangely slow motion frame. Of course that didn't mean her mind was at a blissful and desolate bay, the infectious disease of trembling hands had spread to her as well, a boiling concoction of anxiety burning deep in her stomach. Widespread paranoia was the recent plague, the news had brought to light quite an interesting revelation, and with that the complete panic and horror of the masses.

The marching boots came thrashing about as if on cue, lining up in front of cement abodes and wooden doors. Banners fell in front of pixel screens, red slogans flashing. Some claimed it was the the birth of a new age, others the obliteration of the current one. They held their holy books high, along with their rifles, pledging justice, surrender, and betrayal. They rallied and bantered quarreling and arguing, yet they hardly saying anything. Everyone was in denial, but when the red wine streamers flowed down the streets decorating the bodies of friends and family, the grave reality of the matter was finally accepted.

And here were a bunch of high school students, lined up against a wall. They stood silent, nauseous looks on their faces, gazes fallen upon the floor. Before them stood five people draped in dark red cloaks, strange masks concealing their faces. The apparent leader in a black and red mask with jagged white teeth spoke out to one of his subordinates,

"How many are they?"

"Exactly 36, sir."

"Alright, that sounds like a good amount."

The leader then took off his mask, revealing a young mans face, about 17 or 18 years old, with messy dark blue hair. His gaze quickly swept over the students, eyes stern, indigo, and unrelenting. One of the students looked up and met his eyes, transfixed. He glowered at her icily and she quickly lowered her sight, fidgeting. The sound of a distant engine was heard getting closer and closer. Sweaty palms grazed each other as the students suffocated in the tension glancing at each other, minds dark with worry.

Some prayed silently, some broke down in a desperate sob, while others tried to think of nothing at all. The minutes passed, stretched out like plastic symphonies, an orchestra of bleak crescendos.

Synthetic delusions soared through her mind, hope came like faith amidst the despair.

Through satire and frustration, she laughed. Heart clenched, eyes ablaze.


	5. Endless Static

The white cell walls felt like a breath of fresh air amidst the chaos. We all faced a generation of unexpected tragedies, tired of seeing the worn out headlines and printed banners. The expressions on everybody's faces pale with time, love, and disease.

Palms lay on the slick white tiles and she dare not move. Freedom cant stand through ice and freezing, she thought. It was funny, she almost missed the sound of cold toes tapping to the strange rhythm of a light erratic voice, high with methamphetamine.

Her mind traveled back to the dark vans that had arrived and took them away, to the strange cloaked figures and their impromptu appearance.

"I guess that doesn't really matter now.", she said facing one of the room's walls. They had all been separated into three groups and then escorted inside a large building, one that was cement and gray, pipes protruding. The group of twelve she had been divided into was led around the building to a side entrance, a pitch black entryway. Once inside, they passed dusty halls and broken glass in hazy air, going down steps, by the dozens. The escorts led the way in an abysmal silence and not one of the students uttered a word. After reaching the end of the stairs they turned the corner and entered a fluorescent corridor. One by one, the students were locked into different rooms along the sides. One to each white tiled cell.

The girl sat down on the small bed, mind adrift in thought.

The cell doors were heavy doors and when she heard the creak of one of them opening, she stood up and placed her ear against the door.

"Hey, you're coming with us.", commanded a gruff, male voice.

Foot steps were heard through muffled whispers.

"Where are you taking me? Who are you?", the excited tension rose through the young mans anxious pleas.

"Why am I-Hey let go of me! What are you doing-"

"Shut up if you don't want to get hurt, do as we say if you want live. I'm not here to deal with your shit, understand?", the voice resonated up and down the hall.

The door creaked shut, the footsteps shuffled away and the young man followed silently.

Some students were kept in the cells, others were taken away by the low voices. Meals were served twice a day, oatmeal and water. Days for her were spent locked up and pacing. She could hardly sleep, so she occupied her time in solitary contemplation. The walls were the barriers to the life she had, the people she knew. They were still out there, waiting for her as soon as soon as she stepped out. She wasn't alone, her classmates were at her sides, just beyond the white walls. It didn't matter how many times the doors were opened and slammed shut, somebody was there, she wasn't alone. With every passing hour, day, and week that little fact brought her relief. They didn't talk, but she neither did she, no communication within the students was allowed. She wasn't alone, so whispered to herself as she pressed her hands against the white tiles.

She could almost feel somebody's presence.


End file.
